


these are the glory days (this is the golden age)

by driedupwishes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Pack Bonding, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedupwishes/pseuds/driedupwishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' doesn't remember when he learned the entire pack's food order for five different fast food places and three restaurants with to-go menus, but he does and it kind of freaks him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these are the glory days (this is the golden age)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [treeofworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeofworlds/gifts).



Stiles wasn’t sure when he’d memorized the pack’s food orders. Probably around the same time he’d given up trying to keep them all separate in his head; Scott’s Pack had melted and shifted, Derek’s Pack had crumpled, and like a landslide they had all ended at the bottom of the hill as just, simply, the pack.

There was, after all, only so much running around he could do, trying to pacify and go-between for everyone, before he got absolutely fucking fed up with it and told them _make up or I’m done_. So perhaps the landslide had gotten a little help from some metaphorical dynamite stashed in strategic locations. Maybe, just a little, Stiles had given everyone a shove, putting his foot down and enjoying the feeling of having everyone _listen to him_ for a change.

Or he would have, but most of the shift in everyone’s attitudes had probably been more closely linked to Stiles’ major concussion and broken arm and any threats from his dad that he missed while unconscious at the bottom of the cliff. But whatever, it didn’t matter; one way or another, the two packs (and tag-alongs) had become one, in Stiles’ head and outside of it, which made life _so much fucking easier_.

(It also made life so much more goddamn bizarre, but pros and cons, Stiles; pros and fucking cons.)

However they’d gotten there, Stiles realized about two months from the date of his high school graduation (an event marked on everyone’s calendars as _Everyone Better Fucking Behave, This Means You Evil Shit_ – or maybe that was just Stiles’ calendar, whatever) that he had every single pack members’ food orders memorized for over five fast food places and three to-go compatible restaurants.

“Huh,” Stiles said out loud, covering his hand with his mouth and shifting low in the driver’s seat of his Jeep. He was tapping Derek’s debit card against his leg, in line of the drive thru at McDonald’s at three in the morning on a snack run for the amassed group that had decided they’d rather bunk at Derek’s tonight than try to drag themselves home after the latest run-in with the Wheel of Supernatural Misfortune that had tried to roll through their town.

(Stiles had offered to go grab McDonald’s after suffering ten minutes of the combined whining efforts of not only Isaac and Erica, but Lydia as well. Liam had been looking hopeful, but after having his jaw dislocated by a rather peevish gnome he hadn’t been saying much at all. Derek had glanced at Stiles, the bend of his eyebrows familiar enough that Derek hadn’t needed to speak, and Stiles had snorted, tossing his DS at Isaac with instructions to _put it on the fucking charge, you whiny brats_ as he shoved his way off the couch and made for his keys.

Derek’s credit card had still been in his wallet from the last food run trip he’d been on. He hadn’t remembered that until he’d gotten to the drive-thru menu sign, all but standing on his break to lean through the window to be heard.

The realization had almost made him forget everyone’s order, which was what had started this unexciting train of thought, more than likely. How typical.)

The thought wasn’t that interesting or surprising really, but for some reason as Stiles paid for the food and drove back to Derek’s house (finally rebuilt and _god almighty_ had that been the fucking fight of the century) it wouldn’t leave his head. He parked the Jeep behind Lydia’s car, angling it so she could get out in the morning if she wanted to, though Stiles expected her to stay at least until noon if not later since her mother was out of town, and then he went around to the passenger side door, leaning in to gather up the bags and bags (and bags) of greasy, possibly questionable fast food.

“Here,” Derek said, a soft crunch of a twig underfoot Stiles’ only warning before the alpha curled a hand around his hip and pulled Stiles away, slipping in to gather up the food instead. Stiles let him, mind still playing with the thought like a Rubik Cube, turning it and twisting it and trying to line up what was so _important_ about this. The not-quite-spring air was a little chilly and Stiles shivered as Derek leaned back, shifting to press against Derek after he slammed the Jeep door closed (with practiced ease of just enough force to close it, since an unlucky tumbling hunter had dented it last month and Stiles hadn’t gotten around to getting it fixed yet). Stiles was still tangled in his own thoughts, quiet as they made their way across the yard, so much so that he didn’t really register the way Derek must have been watching him as twigs snapped underneath their sneakers.

“You okay,” Derek asked quietly, leading the way up to the porch, where the light was on to make it easier for Stiles’ to see. Stiles’ waved Derek’s concern away, twisting to bounce up the steps before the alpha, but somehow the werewolf got a hand free of the mountain of bags, because it curled warm around his wrist, stopping him at the top.

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly. He was frowning, a furrow between his eyebrows, and Stiles shifted, not quite uncomfortable, as Derek’s eyes slid down his chest and along his legs, concentrated but not, like, in a sexy way or anything. “You not hurt, are you?”

“What? Nah, I’m okay, big guy, don’t worry. Those little gnomes got nothing on my flail and fleein’ skills.”

The joke fell flat, Derek’s concern still a tangible thing in the air. Stiles sighed, leaning forward, toward Derek who was below him on the steps, reaching up so that he could curl his hand against Derek’s shoulder. Beneath his fingertips he could feel the faintest beat of Derek’s pulse, which was reassuring and grounding in a way he had needed.

“Hey, I’m okay,” Stiles repeated, a little quieter, a little softer. Derek’s face softened and Stiles leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together gently. “Just- didn’t realize I knew everyone’s order by heart,” he admitted in a whisper. “It started my brain spinning and then it just didn’t stop.”

This close Stiles could almost feel the fluttering kiss of Derek’s eyelashes as he blinked and he grinned when Derek’s huffed breath ghosted across his lips. “If you say so,” Derek murmured, gentle and rumbling, just the way he knew would curl Stiles’ toes. Egged on by that murmur Stiles’ angled his head down, his assurance that he _did_ in fact say so lost as his lips pressed against Derek’s, both their mouths opening as Derek angled his head up to deepen the kiss.

And Stiles’ head went silent, blissfully so, for a whole minute as Derek’s lips pressed against his. That was, at least, until the front door banged open and Liam padded out, looking apologetic as he reached in between them for the bags of McDonald’s before turning and trotting back inside.

“You were right,” Liam called as he left the front door open, making Derek growl lightly in the back of his throat about _this is not a barn!_ with the kind of intensity Stiles knew he was going to have to talk to Scott about his beta. “They got distracted with making out on the porch again.”

“I _told you_ ,” Lydia said, loud and haughty, her voice carrying out of the living room and into the dark woods around them. “If we wanted hot food, someone _else_ should have gone to help unload it.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Stiles called back, reaching up to cover Derek’s ears so that he wouldn’t pay for that later with some terrible fate like a night on the couch with the kids ( _betas_ , Derek would correct him, and Stiles would arch his eyebrows and gesture at Isaac eating like a goddamn warthog on the floor, repeating _kids_ in the same tone) or something even worse, like no goodnight kisses.

Though Derek had never been able to follow through on the no goodnight kisses rule, so Stiles wasn’t really worried about that.

“It’s still _warm_ ,” he called. “Warm _ish_ at the very least!”

Derek huffed, breath tickling Stiles’ jaw, and Stiles felt Derek’s arms wind around him, another warm heavy anchor to keep his head on track. Stiles laughed a little at the way the alpha nuzzled his throat, pressing up another step to shave some of the difference off their height, and Stiles turned, pressing back into the kiss with ease, not caring that their fries would get cold or that Isaac and Liam might steal his chicken nuggets if he was gone too long.

(And maybe he wasn’t as baffled by his own reaction to the realization that the packs had merged into one pack, into _his pack_ , than he wanted to be. It was his head, after all, so he knew a thing or two about the way the train route went.

He had all the pack’s food orders memorized for five fast food places and three resturants with to-go menus, and he dreaded the day he would roll up to one of those order menus and have to silently remind himself not to get a third thing of chicken nuggets because people don’t need chicken nuggets when they’re six feet underground.

What he fears, more than anything, is that they’ll graduate with a hole in their ranks, an empty seat somewhere they won’t be able to let anyone fill. They’d barely saved Allison, barely kept Body and Erica alive by the skin of their teeth. Their pack grew seemingly every month, there was always a new order to remember, but Stiles had a great memory.

He didn’t want to see Derek’s face when he brought home a dinner or snack or breakfast for someone who wasn’t there anymore.

So, yeah, he’d freaked a little bit. But for now, everyone was alive. Everyone was alive and everyone in the house was fed, and Derek was warm and alive and kissing him, which meant Stiles would be okay.

As long as he had this, he’d be okay. Tomorrow was going to come no matter what he did, so there was no use worrying about it before it happened.)

“Stop thinking,” Derek muttered against his mouth, dragging him down a step until Stiles was clinging onto Derek’s shoulders, fingers curled tight in the material of his shirt. Stiles’ snorted, biting Derek’s lower lip slightly before flicking out his tongue to soothe the sting.

“Why don’t you make me stop thinking,” Stiles said, instead of admitting he didn’t know how, didn’t think he’d ever get over the ball of constant anxiety that seemed to have taken up residence in his chest, in his head. Derek growled, rising to the challenge, his strong warm hands sliding down Stiles’ sides to grip at his legs, hauling him up off the ground until Stiles’ was forced to wrap them around Derek’s hips instead, laughter bubbling in his throat as someone inside yelled _oh for fuck’s sake, we’re trying to eat, please don’t fuck on the porch_ out the still open door.

(And it was close to perfect as humanly – or inhumanly – possible as Stiles’ thought the world could get, more so than he thought he deserved and not quite enough for what he thought Derek deserved but it was a work in progress.

They’d get there, all of them. They always did.)

**Author's Note:**

> this document is literally titled: Do Your Ever Miss Stiles So Much You Write Abt Drivethrus B/C I Did
> 
> but anyway HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN BOO this is ur surprise stiles fic b/c I miss my sarcastic son lmao


End file.
